


but i always will

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Exes to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Post-Break Up, lots of longing and pain but i guess you expect that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 22:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17394593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: Plastic dinosaurs and small stuffed animals are scattered across the living room floor. From inside the kitchen, Clarke can hear the wonderful sound of Ivy’s giggles as they bounce off the walls and blend with Bellamy’s warm laughter. “Now, who’s the fastest baby in the world? Show me, huh? Crawl to daddy!”Her heart quivers in her chest.(or the one where they broke up two months ago. Having a kid is complicated. Still having feelings iseven morecomplicated)





	but i always will

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chants_de_lune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chants_de_lune/gifts).



> this fic is an early birthday gift to my lovely friend meg! ❤️ it is a lot more emotional and angsty than my usual fic, but i wanted to write something different and this one means a lot to me. also, thanks to liz for proof-reading this for me. 
> 
> the title is from the song 'poison and wine' by the civil wars, which you should definitely listen to if you want the full emotional experience. it hurts in the best way possible, i promise. 
> 
> grab your tissues and settle in, folks!

Plastic dinosaurs and small stuffed animals are scattered across the living room floor. From inside the kitchen, Clarke can hear the wonderful sound of Ivy’s giggles as they bounce off the walls and blend with Bellamy’s warm laughter. “Now, who’s the fastest baby in the world? Show me, huh? Crawl to daddy!”

Her heart quivers in her chest. 

Swallowing the tight lump in her throat, she throws the dish towel across her shoulder and leans against the half wall that partly encloses the kitchen area from the living room. Here, she can watch her six-month-old daughter work her way towards Bellamy who is sitting a mere two feet from her, a proud grin brightening his face. “Yeah. I know you can do it, big girl! Come on.”

Once she has finally reached him, he picks her up and she squeals in excitement when he makes a happy face. 

Everything that they’ve been through this past two months aside, Clarke would be a fool to ignore how much Bellamy loves their daughter. It’s perhaps the only thing they still share; their overwhelming love for her that they’ve felt since before she was even born. 

Hell, it’s the sole reason why she’s letting him stay during the weekends. 

After setting Ivy down again, Bellamy catches Clarke watching, holds her gaze for a moment. “You need help out there?”

Battling the urge to bite her lower lip, she shakes her head. A heavy silence grows between them, which is only broken by Ivy’s enthusiastic babbling. When she fists at the fabric of his pants, Bellamy turns his attention back to her, and Clarke feels a few tears stick to her eyelashes. She flees back into the kitchen to stir the pot of creamy mac and cheese, trying to shut out the sound of him playing with their daughter. It used to fill her to the brim with bliss, but now it just cuts a deep hole right through her chest. 

A couple of minutes later, she turns her head in time to see Bellamy enter the kitchen carrying a whimpering Ivy. “I think someone’s hungry,” he says with a slight smile before handing their baby to Clarke. “I’ll finish this.”

“Thank you,” she replies, cooing under her breath to comfort Ivy. As she passes him, she can’t resist placing a hand on his shoulder, and though it might be harmless it feels strange now, yet no stranger than sitting alone while she nurses Ivy.

Before the split, Bellamy always sat by her just in case she needed help with something. Most of the time, however, she didn’t and he simply used it as an excuse to be with them. 

Now she fears that she has driven him away. 

“I put the mac and cheese in the fridge for you,” he calls out, peeking around the corner of the half wall. Looking into his eyes, Clarke manages a tiny smile as she cuddles her daughter’s head. She can sense him hesitating before he walks through the living room, passing the television slowly enough to steal a glance, which stabs at her heart. 

She can’t handle it. 

“Why don’t you sit down? If you keep pacing like that you might distract her,” is her reasoning, which barely has any grounds, but it’s enough to make him listen. As soon as he has taken a seat next to her on the couch, Bellamy can’t resist brushing a finger against Ivy’s round cheek, causing her to make a soft noise. “She loves when you’re here.”

At those delicate words, he stares at her for a few long seconds, and though it seems like he wants to say something, he doesn’t — at least not until a minute of silence has passed, which isn’t as uncomfortable as usual. “I think she’s getting a bit drowsy.”   

“Yeah. She’s barely eating anymore.” 

While they’re sitting here like this, it is easy to forget that lightning has torn through their little family. Once Ivy has finished eating, given in to sleepiness, Bellamy takes her into his arms and carries her to the crib. The only sources of light in the nursery are the table lamp and the glow-in-the-dark stars that he stuck to the ceiling before she was born; it makes it so comforting.

Running a hand through the back of his curly hair, Bellamy turns to her. “Since she’s down already, I could… I mean, I could go home.” 

Clarke shakes her head. “No, I think you should stay — just in case she wakes up later.”

Since the split,  _ home  _ has had a different meaning; it’s agonizing to even think about. Being together, belonging together is no more, and frankly it’s as if someone has taken her life and smashed it into a million fucking pieces. When their eyes connect again, she tries to see how many deep shades of brown that she can find, but she doesn’t rediscover more than two before he turns his back to her. 

_ There are at least fifty, she remembers.  _

The next time she sees him he has changed into his sleepwear, which is a pair of light gray, loose bottoms and a white t-shirt that clings to his biceps. Leaning against the kitchen counter, Clarke goddamn nearly chokes on her sip of water as he walks past her. 

“Do you ever miss me?”

The thought that has occupied her mind for so long finally escapes her lips as a mere whisper that makes him stand frozen in place. After half a minute, he turns around to face her, looking as though she just tore his heart straight out of his chest. 

Then he steps towards her slowly until he’s close enough that his hot breath brushes her skin; his eyes are gentle, holding hers like they’ve done so many times before, and it steals the air from her lungs. She sees his Adam’s apple bob when their hands graze. “Of course I miss you.” 

Ruthless tears gather in her throat. There is nothing she can do to fight them this time. 

Still looking at her, Bellamy continues, “This co-parenting thing isn’t working. Like this, we might as well be splitting time with her, because we aren’t doing it  _ together  _ anyway. Not really… Clarke, you and I, we’re over. It’s done. But we’ll always be a part of each other’s lives, because we have Ivy. So no matter how difficult this is right now, we need to do it for her.” 

Nodding, she bites back a needy whimper as he wipes a lone tear from the corner of her eye. For a moment, he even strokes her cheekbone with his thumb, and the familiar sensation is enough to make her throat tighten. 

“I know,” is what she sighs, her bottom lip trembling. As soon as Bellamy reaches out again, she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, buries her nose in his shoulder; the first sensation that greets her is his scent — pine and wet earth — which used to be soothing to her. Now, it just makes her want to cry harder. 

He releases a choked sound before he hugs her back. Normally, embracing each other wouldn’t be a big deal for them, but considering the fact that they’ve barely touched each other in two months this feels like nothing short of a small victory; a deep relief that seeps into her bones.  Of course, it’s also way too short. 

“Um, I should—go to bed.” 

At his words, Clarke’s heart sinks even more than it already has. “Right.” 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t let go of her for another moment; she wants to take that moment, bottle it up and save it, because she  _ knows  _ that the next time they’ll touch like this will be when hell freezes over.

Or maybe not…

 

When Ivy’s loud cries wake her later, darkness has swallowed her bedroom, and she fumbles her way through the cold sheets to turn on the night lamp. Before she can move out of bed, however, she hears the familiar sound of Bellamy’s footsteps across the hardwood floors and then the soothing words he speaks to their daughter. 

With his words from earlier stuck in her mind: ‘ _ We aren’t doing it together anyway,’  _ Clarke is just about to leave the bed and join him in the nursery, but then he shows up in the doorway, carrying Ivy, who is still whimpering. Offering her a small, tired smile, Bellamy walks to her bedside, and she doesn’t need him to say what their baby needs right now. 

Unbothered by his presence, Clarke pulls off the oversized t-shirt that she wears to bed, and even though he tries to turn his gaze away at first out of plain decency, Bellamy places Ivy in her arms before taking one hurried step towards the doorway.

“You can stay if you want to. We’re  _ co _ -parenting, remember?”

“Yeah, but—“

She rolls her eyes. “Are you seriously going to act like you’ve never seen my boobs before? You were fine with it earlier.”

Once she’s said this, he opens his mouth as though he wants to say something, yet no words emerge, so instead he caves in and sits down on the bed next to her. Latching onto Clarke’s nipple, little Ivy makes an enthusiastic sucking noise, which causes her parents to chuckle. With that, the strained atmosphere in the room seems to evaporate a bit, and Bellamy gently cradles the back of his daughter’s head, his dark eyes full of adoration.

This reminds Clarke so much of when they first brought her home. 

Their small bundle of joy… 

Frankly, it amazes her that she and Bellamy proved themselves capable of making something so perfect when they’ve also made such a complete mess of their relationship. 

“Damn, she’s really going for it,” Bellamy murmurs, causing Clarke to laugh wholeheartedly. When she looks up at him then, there are at least a billion tiny suns beaming through his gaze, and at that swift moment she feels fondness surge through her like a tidal wave. Honestly, it’s been way too long since she saw him this happy. 

“Wonder where she gets that determination from.”

To her surprise, he touches his forehead against her temple. “You, of course.” 

Her heart swells in her ribcage, and a tiny smile begins to pull at the corners of her mouth. “I’m not so sure about that.” Then Ivy kicks her legs a little in eagerness, causing Bellamy to raise an eyebrow, his smile growing lopsided. 

_ Okay. Maybe he’s right.  _

After eating for another ten minutes, Ivy falls into slight slumber against her chest. “Oh, really? You’re gonna sleep now? You don’t need to burp?” Bellamy comments, sounding skeptical, which only makes Clarke chuckle once more. In the past couple of months, this particular sound has rarely escaped her. Perhaps this is why Bellamy’s eyes seem drawn to her afterwards. 

As if he can’t believe that he just made her even somewhat happy. 

“Thanks for sitting here with me. Again,” she tells him, resisting the unexpected desire to kiss his freckled cheek. 

“No worries, Princess.” 

_ The nickname.  _ If his widened eyes are any indication, it just slipped out of his mouth; a habit that’s difficult to drop, but it has certain connotations that they’re trying to leave behind. For a split second, it actually looks as though he’s going to apologize for calling her that, yet he doesn’t. Instead, he takes Ivy and rocks her in his arms.

“Goodnight, Bellamy.” 

He manages a smile, shadows flickering in his gaze before he turns his back to her and walks out of the room like he doesn’t remember that it used to be  _ theirs _ . Their bed, their sheets, their safe haven; it’s all crumbled now, no longer feels the same. In fact, sleeping here has loneliness looming over her like a dark, unforgiving cloud to remind her that they might as well be oceans apart. 

 

* * *

For the occasion, she has slipped on a black lace dress. It’s quite elegant, she supposes, aside from the fact that it makes her look a bit like a funeral attendee. Why these art gallery openings always have to be decadent are beyond her, but it gives her a rare chance to dress up, and she’d be lying if she claimed that putting on nice clothes doesn’t make her feel sexier. 

(She had a baby six months ago. Sue her.)

One problem with these expensive dresses, however, is the tiny zippers that are goddamn near impossible to control. Sighing in frustration after her fourth failed attempt at zipping it all the way, Clarke calls out, “Bellamy, will you help me with something?”

“Sure. One second.” 

He’s probably placing Ivy in the genius baby bouncer thing that allows them to leave her unsupervised for a few minutes — it has several sensory-stimulating toys, which keep her occupied and happy while she’s also strapped in the seat, prevented from crawling all around the apartment. 

When he’s finally making his way across the bedroom to her, Clarke senses his eyes roam over her body, which has her throat drying out and her sensitive skin prickling from the attention. As he stands behind her, his hot breath grazes the back of her neck. She has to bite down on her bottom lip, because she doesn’t trust herself not to make any inappropriate noise. 

Listening to him take a heavy breath, Clarke feels his finger trail up the area of bare skin on her back. Just like that, flames have ignited in her stomach, and once his hand encircles her hip her breath catches in her throat. 

_ No,  _ her mind utters furiously. 

But her body roars  _ yes  _ like a caged animal.  _ Set me free.  _

Then Bellamy drags the zipper up the rest of the way, and her heart drops. Although she is scared to face him, knowing full well that desire might have carved itself into her expression, there’s no escaping it. After a heavy moment of hesitation, Clarke turns around.

They’re both frowning at each other in silence until he clears his throat a little. “You look nice.” His dark eyes are flickering, his jaw clenched and pupils blown wide. For a moment, she is certain that she must look just as hungry, but only he would truly know that. 

“Thank you.” Despite her meaning to say this in a regular, steady tone of voice, the words emerge as a whisper, nothing short of a breath of air. Sensing blood rush to her cheeks, Clarke lowers her face to hide it from him and then  _ tries  _ to step away — but he reaches out behind him to grab her wrist, so she finds herself anchored there, energy sizzling beneath her ivory skin. 

“ _ Forgive me… _ ” He murmurs, turning around, and Clarke doesn’t even have enough time to comprehend what he means by that, as at the next second his lips are latched onto her throat; his warm hands splayed across her back. 

It feels like she’s about to burst into flames. 

If she could she’d sink into him right then, so they’d become one. 

Burying his hand in her golden hair, Bellamy sucks at the juncture between her jaw and neck, stealing all of the air from her lungs. To regain control, Clarke digs her blunt fingernails into his shoulder blade, gasping as desire paints the inside of her eyelids with shining stars. She wants to yank his clothes off, wants him to fuck her hard until she screams; passion flares in her veins, making her bite his bottom lip, and he groans loudly.

Somehow, his hand travels down her thigh to settle in between her legs, where she’s aching like never before. With ease, he finds her throbbing clit through the lace fabric of her underwear, and his fingers have just begun stroking it when the piercing sound of Ivy’s cries cuts through the thick atmosphere.

“Don’t move,” he pants against her neck before temporarily abandoning her. 

For a moment, it’s as if she’s standing in a warzone; the rubble of their love surrounds her like debris and the fire licking its way up her skin threatens to turn everything in here to ashes, and yet she finds herself incapable of caring. Determination conquers her body as she tears off her dress, leaves her soaked panties on the floor. This might be the only way she’ll ever have Bellamy again, and so be it. 

When Bellamy returns ten minutes later after putting Ivy to bed, Clarke has wrapped herself in a thin, white bed sheet. Though she has no idea if it’s as enticing as she thinks it is, he worries his bottom lip as he walks to join her on the bed, so it must be doing  _ something  _ to him. 

“I told you not to move,” he murmurs, his eyes all passionate lightning. 

“So what? Are you going to punish me?” there is not a single flicker of fear in her voice. In fact, it’s borderline teasing, which seems to effectively get a rise out of him, if the way that his frown deepens is any indication.

“Not today…” With these quiet words, Bellamy captures her lips with his, and even though they are moving hard enough to bruise the kiss still has an intense wave of different emotions surging through her. As she places her hand to the back of his neck, sighing, he softens a little, his fingertips grazing her cheekbone. “What about the gallery opening?”

“Cancelled.”

At that response, he smirks against her lips before drawing back to tell her lie down. Seizing the opportunity, Clarke reaches for his belt buckle, but he swats her hands away, and for a moment she finds herself having to bite back tears. “I’m sorry,” he mutters then, dropping a surprisingly sweet kiss to the inside of her knee. “I just can’t.”

_ Why?  _ Is what she thinks until she remembers just how selfless her ex-boyfriend is. There’s no way guilt isn’t already eating him up from the inside. 

So when he asks her to spread her legs for him, she does it without hesitation. Despite his previous lack of softness, Bellamy can’t resist placing a couple kisses to the stretch  marks across her lower abdomen before he delves between her legs. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, his voice a mere croak, his hot breath fanning against her sex. 

“ _ Yes. _ ” 

Clarke makes sure to stress her response in a way that highlights her desire, so that he won’t question it. Then, after another moment of hesitation, Bellamy licks into her, the familiar sensation pulling a sharp moan from her throat at once. “Oh!” 

As to not wake the baby sleeping in the next room, she bites down on her forearm. Once she has moved past the initial, overpowering pleasure, she becomes aware of his coarse Sunday scruff prickling her inner thighs, the soft length of his tongue brushing her clit and folds — it’s so familiar yet distant enough to make her feel as though she is floating in a long, wondrous dream. 

For the first time ever with him, Clarke tries not to come; she  _ really  _ does, but in the end she has to give in, and she tumbles over the edge with a broken moan as the ruthless tears roll down her cheeks. 

Of course, she doesn’t want Bellamy to notice, but he does. 

“We’ll be okay. I promise,” is what he whispers against her lips as he embraces her, holding her through the aftershocks. Wanting him closer, Clarke pulls herself up and he follows, bringing her into his lap. Just hearing him say these words is enough to make her sob against his neck. Then, gathering herself, she draws back to suck her arousal off his chin until he growls low in his throat. Knowing that he probably won’t let her, Clarke still asks, “Can I please do something nice for you?”

“No.”

Sighing, she cups his sharp jaw and rests her forehead against his for a moment. “Why not?”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he gazes at her through his long eyelashes, brushes his thumb across her bottom lip trying to be comforting. After about a minute of lingering like this, he tells her that he should go, and yet he doesn’t move; opts for running his hand down her arm. 

“Bellamy?”

Keeping his head down, he unbuckles his belt, swallowing so hard that she sees his Adam’s apple bob with the force of it — guilt, certainly. He must be drowning in it right now, and yet he can only do so much to keep his own desire at bay. “…Maybe just a hand job then,” is what he decides, wincing at his own words. 

“Okay.”

Clarke moves off his lap to drag his pants and briefs down until his hard length curls into her palm; the weight and feel of it is recognizable, even though it’s been a while since she’s held it like this. At the very first stroke, Bellamy’s head falls onto her shoulder. With her free hand, she brushes her fingertips soothingly through his curly hair, listens to every broken whimper that escapes his lips while she works him slowly, twisting her wrist at the base from time to time just as she knows he likes it.

“ _ Fuck… _ ” he curses, sounding wrecked with emotion — the heaviest one being self-loathing, which creeps through his voice even clearer than the pleasure. Seconds later, she feels him pulsing in her hand and briefly lets go of him, so that he comes onto her stomach instead of into her palm.

Once his breathing has evened out, Bellamy draws back, his eyes wide and glassy with tears. “Sorry— I made a mess.” 

Not quite sure that he’s actually talking about the semen, Clarke shakes her head, a bit stunned despite herself. “Don’t worry about it.” 

When she leans forward to kiss him, he barely responds, pulling himself back before their lips have had the time to fit together again. Without uttering as much as a single word, he shucks his clothes on and leaves her in the room amongst the ruins of whatever the hell it was that they just had. 

She wishes that she could hate him for that. 

But she can’t…

 

Her lace dress is still a discarded piece of fabric on the floor that night, and she tries not to look at it while she makes her out of the room to lift the whimpering Ivy from her crib. “Sssh, baby girl,” she coos, swaying her a little in her arms before she takes a seat on the rocking chair that Bellamy remodeled for her during her third trimester. 

“Eating in the middle of the night is a bad habit, Ivy,” Clarke teases, touching a finger to the tip of her daughter’s tiny nose. Sometimes she wonders if she’ll have Bellamy’s freckles when she grows older, his dark hair and brown eyes. Biologically speaking, it’s likely. 

Because it keeps her awake while her daughter nurses, Clarke begins to hum a soothing melody that will (hopefully) make her daughter a little drowsy by the time she’s done. For a minute, she smiles, spellbound by how cute her baby girl looks, so comfortable against her chest, but when she glances up the surprising sight of Bellamy leaning against the doorframe stalls her humming. 

“Anything you want?” she murmurs, trying not to sound too cold. 

“Just wanted to hold our kid,” is what he confesses, his voice thick with tears, and the sound of that stabs at her chest like a merciless knife. 

She fights the urge to meet his eyes. “You can. When she’s finished.” 

Although Ivy has almost doused off by the time she’s done nursing, Clarke is not about to deny Bellamy the chance to hold her, so she fixes her shirt in place and whispers, “Let’s get you over to daddy, huh? Sounds like he misses you.” Then she walks to Bellamy, transferring Ivy into his arms, which are ready to cradle her. 

He sniffles, offering his daughter a watery smile even though she can’t see it behind her closed eyelids. 

“Hey,” placing a hand on his shoulder, Clarke makes him look at her. “I will  _ never  _ take her from you.  Never. No matter how pissed I am.” 

At those words of reassurance, a single tear rips loose from Bellamy’s eye, but she brushes it away with her thumb. Though she had been planning to leave the nursery, once he sits down on the rocking chair, she follows him and kneels to the floor beside it, unable to take her eyes off their sleeping daughter lying in his strong, secure arms. 

“We truly made a little miracle,” is what he remarks caressing Ivy’s belly with his fingertips. 

“Yeah…” 

Now he gazes at her again, his earthy eyes full of softness. “I’m so sorry about earlier, bolting like that.” 

Although Clarke’s heart swells in her chest, she attempts to brush his apology off, pretend that it doesn’t matter, but she should’ve known that he would read her like an open book. “Of course I hurt you,” he insists. “I know you like to be held, and I deprived you of that because of the guilt I was feeling.”

True. When they were still together they’d always cuddle after having sex, as they both needed it to wind down — also, it was a nice way of feeding into the emotional atmosphere that they created in the bedroom while intertwined, sort of like making magic out of thin air. What happened this afternoon didn’t come close to that sensation, but it was still something incredible, something missed. 

“It’s alright.” After all, she knows that he doesn’t cope well with guilt. In fact, he simply lets it eat him up like a toxin. “You’re forgiven.”

Bellamy releases a sigh of relief, smiles as Ivy smacks her lips in her sleep. Then he presses a lingering kiss to Clarke’s forehead. And suddenly, she can’t prevent the words from jumping out of her mouth, “Do you regret what happened?”

Thinking about it for half a minute, he replies, “I’m not sure.”

It’s complicated. Falling into bed with someone that you broke up with two months ago is something you know isn’t supposed to feel good; it’s supposed to be more volatile than it was, hurt more than it did. But the reality is that the longing carves deeper than whatever tore them apart in the first place, the desire to be close again is not an illusion. She could pretend to hate him, pretend that she regretted it, because that would make more sense. 

Here’s the thing, though;  _ it’s just not true. _  
  


* * *

 

One late afternoon Clarke returns home to the sight of Bellamy spoon-feeding Ivy homemade applesauce; the six month old is smiling adorably around the plastic spoon as the sun throws its warm, golden beams into the kitchen. She can’t help but feel like a stark contrast to this beautiful scene, her emotions chaotic, her hands reeking of antiseptic. 

“Rough day?” he asks without turning his attention away from Ivy. 

However, when she doesn’t respond and instead turns on the faucet to wash for hands for the twelfth time, Clarke hears his chair scrape against the floor shortly before she feels him stand behind her to work the tension out of her shoulders with his thumbs. “Tell me what happened?” is what he breathes against her neck, and for a moment she allows herself to forget that they’re not together anymore. 

Her ocean eyes are filled with tears when she faces him. “I— I can’t work with kids anymore, it’s just—“ as she fumbles for words, her hands begin to tremble, so Bellamy takes them into his. Then, without fighting against the urge, Clarke falls against his chest, searching for comfort.

Right away, he cradles the back of her head. “Come here. Help me feed Ivy while we talk.”

This is a great therapeutic technique of his:  _ doing something nice while talking about heavy things.  _ While they were together, they’d have near-endless, heartfelt conversations in bed, cuddling. Now, all of the nice activities that they share have to do with their daughter, which is fine. She’ll take what she can get.

Ivy radiates like a small sun when Bellamy presents her with another spoonful of the applesauce, babbling a little to signify her excitement. “See? She likes it. Took some getting used to, but…” purposefully trailing off, he cracks a goofy smile as she eats it. 

Then he lets her try. It’s impossible not to be affected by the brightness that’s pouring out of their daughter’s face, her tiny smile contagious like no other, and when Clarke feels fully at ease, she begins to tell Bellamy about her day: Even though she normally doesn’t work with kids, she was called on to help a nine-year-old girl who had sustained a serious head injury in a car accident. 

In comfort, Bellamy places a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll be okay.” 

“No, she won’t,” Clarke croaks, shaking her head through the sadness that bites at her heart. “I saw the CT-scan. It’s not good. You know, maybe… maybe with extensive rehabilitation and physical therapy, but— God, it’s the kids, Bell, I can’t. Not anymore. If I refuse to do these cases, then I’m a bad doctor, and if I do them I’ll just cry myself to sleep at night thinking about Ivy. Every one of those kids, they could’ve been her.” 

(What she doesn’t tell him is that last week when a young woman lost her fiancé, Clarke spent the following fifteen minutes in the bathroom, sobbing uncontrollably.) 

To her utter surprise, he presses a lingering kiss to the crown of her hair. “You’re human, and you have a big heart. It’s impossible to remain stoic all the time, and you gotta let yourself hurt sometimes. That’s what you told  _ me  _ once.” 

_ It’s true.  _

Without permission, the next words escape her lips, “You can stay here tonight, if you want to.” After she’s said it, she adds that it’s been a long day and that she could need  _ his help  _ with Ivy during the night, but that excuse is getting a little old. Today is not a weekend, so he’s not even meant to be here, and yet there is a stack of graded history essays on the dinner table next to Ivy’s high chair.   
  
  


Later, while she’s lying in the bed, the sheets seem even colder than usual. Staring at the ceiling, Clarke lies awake despite the exhaustion that is wearing on her bones, so when the baby monitor amplifies Ivy’s whimpers, she goes to the nursery to find Bellamy already bent over the crib, rubbing soothing circles on the baby’s belly with his fingertips. 

“I got this,” he tells her, sensing her gaze. “You can go back to bed.”

When they, following the breakup, decided to co-parent and live together during the weekends, she was relieved that they had a small guest room in the apartment. Now, however, she’s longing to pull him back into their old King. 

But for a while she’s too afraid to ask, so she simply murmurs, “I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I.”

Silence creeps into the nursery, making the room seem smaller somehow. After another moment, Bellamy breathes, and it sounds almost like her name. Even though her heart is pulling her forward, she’d be stupid to think that she could ever fix this; the damage is done, the war waged — and yes, it might seem fine, like time does indeed heal what’s broken, but it doesn’t really. 

Their story came to an abrupt finish when she told him ‘ _ No’ _ , that’s the truth. 

Oh, how she wishes that she didn’t know that. Because if she could blame him for this mess entirely, maybe it would be easier to breathe the same air as him — maybe she would be able to stand looking at herself in the mirror for more than a second without feeling as though guilt slapped her across the face. 

It would be so fucking selfish to say that she needs him right now. 

But her heart doesn’t care about that right now, because the distance is torturous, agonizing and if she doesn’t try to break the barrier, she might dissolve from the pain. Bracing herself, she takes a step closer, causing him to blink once, baffled. 

Then — to her surprise — Bellamy reaches out, using his gentle hand to pull her in the rest of the way. “I’m not stupid,” is what he says against the crown of her hair. “I know why you asked me to stay here. I know why you haven’t kicked me out yet. But you gotta decide, Clarke.” The edge of his eyes has turned hard, blazing, which leaves her shocked. “Do you miss my heart or my cock?”

_ Honestly…. what— _

Only when he turns to walk out of the room does she catch a hold of his arm. Aware of the sleeping baby, she tries to convey how her blood boils in her veins by looking at him, her jaw clenched and ocean eyes thundering. 

Still, it’s not satisfying, so she pushes him out of the room, closes the door behind them. “Did you just  _ shame  _ me because  _ we  _ had sex? As if I’m the only one who can’t make up my mind! You can’t seem to decide whether you hate me or not.”

“I don’t hate you.” 

Her lower lip wobbles as tears tighten her throat. To keep her hard shell intact, Clarke lifts her chin and spits out a quiet curse. “Then why are you acting like such an ass, huh? I guess I’m the evil one here because I need a bit of comfort, but when you kiss me I’m supposed to believe that you’re not toying with me? I’m supposed to  _ forgive _ you.”

“Clarke—“ is his desperate attempt at breaking through the thick smoke, but she’s not telling him pass. 

“No, Bellamy.  _ You’re  _ the one who ended this.  _ You  _ broke up with  _ me _ ! Or have you forgotten that?”

Below the thin surface of evaporating anger, she knows that she’s projecting. As soon as she sees his facial expression become veiled by guilt, tears piercing through his brown eyes, she wants to croak out an apology.

When the first sob escapes him, she has to press her hand to the wall to prevent herself from falling to her knees. Her heart is bleeding in her ribcage, the fury has gone from her body as though it was never there, and now all that she can do is stand there, stare at the pain she has inflicted on him by pouring salt into an unhealed wound. 

“You didn’t wanna marry me,” he says, his voice small. “What was I supposed to believe? That you still loved me?” 

The questions land on her like a ton of bricks. They fucking  _ sting. _ While she feels herself fall apart, layer-by-layer until there is nothing left but her damaged heart, she whispers, “Yes. Because I  _ do. _ ”

With every passing second, Clarke finds it more difficult to stand. In the end, her knees buckle and she lets them cave in until she is curled up, crouching on the floor. Now that everything is said, there is nothing more that she can do. Maybe it’s for the best. Two people who cause each other pain are never meant to be together. 

Even if they regret it… 

After what feels like an eternity has passed, she senses his strong arms envelope her, bring her up off the floor. For a while, he just holds her, cradling the back of her head as he’d done earlier. She buries her face in his shoulder, wondering why on earth he hasn’t let her go yet? But then it dawns on her:  _ He never wanted to.  _

Bellamy presses a lingering kiss to her forehead, and she feels a tear cling to the corner of his mouth, so she draws back. Seeing him cry makes her clutch the back of his t-shirt, bite her tongue through the rush of guilt. For half a minute, they gaze at each other through their wet eyelashes, and she finds his full of fondness… and pain. 

Managing a tiny smile, Clarke takes his hands, which he has folded as if in prayer — and she kisses them. His breath quivers around another sob, but he holds it back, almost chokes on it. 

“Make love to me,” she whispers, the words emerging without permission. Of course, she’s convinced that he’s going to protest, but he doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his gaze trained on her, his full lips slightly parting as he unbuttons her flannel. 

“Say it again.” Though he’d been rough mere minutes ago, the sadness must have softened him as much as it has her. Cupping her cheeks, Bellamy gazes at her despite the tears that remain in his earthy eyes. Perhaps he thinks that he heard wrong the first time; that the words can’t be sincere, because his expression reveals that he is adamant.

“ _ Make love to me. _ ”

At first, he blinks, but the confusion doesn’t last long, disappearing like smoke into thin air. Then he’s suddenly lifted her off the ground, and although she remembers that he used to do this all the time before the breakup, she hasn’t allowed herself to recall the sensation more than once. 

Bellamy’s always known how to make her feel like a masterpiece. 

“I really don’t deserve this,” he murmurs against her neck as he places lingering kisses to it. Ignoring his own words, he places her gently on the mattress and rises to his knees to watch her. “You’ve had a bad day. I… just— I shamed you for something that  _ I  _ initiated. Clarke, you should really kick me out.” 

Peeling the flannel off her shoulders, she hesitates before admitting, “Maybe. But I don’t wanna take the easy way out. I’m gonna fight for this.” 

“Why?”

Once he’s said that, she pulls him down with her until they’re nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead in the dim light of the bedroom. Brushing her lips against his, she says, “Because I believe what we have is worth saving. Don’t you believe that, too?” 

Bellamy’s jaw slackens before he nods. “I do…” With that response out in the open, he kisses her long and deep, but she briefly interrupts it to pull his t-shirt over his head. Gentler than ever, he brushes his thumb along her cheekbone and traces the shape of her lips all the same. When he finally reaches down to pull her panties down her legs, her breath is caught in her throat.

Moving her hands in between their bodies, Clarke drags his briefs down and takes his hard length into her palm, which has him shuddering in pleasure. The last time they were here, she could sense that his guilt made it difficult for him to enjoy what she was doing to him, and that made her feel horrible, but it’s quite different now. 

“You’re still off birth control, right?”

Clarke nods. They switched back to condoms when Ivy was born, since she stopped taking the pill in fear of the hormones interfering with her milk production. Therefore, Bellamy reaches into the nightstand drawer to find one. 

He positions himself at her entrance as soon as he has rolled the condom on, but shows no rush when it comes to pushing inside her. Lifting her jaw using two of his fingers, he studies her face, and for a quick moment she feels self-conscious, wondering whether the desire that is lighting a fire in her abdomen shows in her eyes. “I want to see you,” is what he whispers then, flicking on the lamp at her nightstand. “Hey…”

Her heart floods with affection. “Please, Bellamy.” 

Letting her hand travel up his spine, finding and mapping every hard muscle of his back, Clarke nuzzles his cheek. He interlaces their fingers, takes a breath as he begins to slip into her, making a gasp escape her throat while a low groan escapes his. 

“Does it… does it feel okay?”

Clarke presses her lips to his shoulder in reassurance. Though it’s difficult to describe exactly what it’s like, she tries anyway, “It feels  _ amazing, _ ” which isn’t untrue — and at the same time it’s not the most suited adjective. How do you put words to a sensation that you’ve never experienced before? To her, this feeling is comparable to that of the first safe embrace from a loved one after you’ve been separated from them for an eternity. 

Although they haven’t had this kind of sex in almost three months, it doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. Well, at least they’re not rusty, and Bellamy makes quite a big deal out of proving that he still knows all of her weak spots. When she moans his name out loud, he even cracks a bright smile before he slows down, so that it’s easier to press his thumb to her clit. 

“Fuck, you don’t have to—” she insists, her cheeks most likely scarlet from the amount of blood that just rushed towards them for no apparent reason. 

But Bellamy just quirks up an eyebrow, smirking a little. “What? Get you off? Since when have I ever disappointed you…” as soon as he has finished the sentence, he seems to regret it, his eyes widening a bit. 

“Not in bed, you haven’t.” 

To her surprise, those words manage to shake him out of the momentary shame, because he continues rubbing at her clit, still thrusting slowly into her for good measure, and it takes no more than a couple minutes for her to tumble over the edge. Judging from the way his jaw clenches after she’s come apart, Bellamy is desperately trying to rob himself of release, but it doesn’t work this time. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs straight away, his breathing heavy against her sensitive skin. 

Of course, Clarke’s not having any of that bullshit — especially not after the argument that they just had. “Don’t apologize, Bellamy.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, and he squeezes his eyes shut while he pulls out. When he’s lying on his side next to her, he finally breathes, “Not for… I broke your heart.” Even though she wants to cuddle up against him, feel his warm skin touch hers, she’s not sure that it’s the right thing to do. However, Bellamy soon pulls her in without her needing to say anything. 

“I broke yours, too. If I’d just accepted your proposal, then—”

At that, Bellamy cuts her off. “You didn’t want to marry me, though. You were right for—“

“ _ No.  _ You don’t understand. So many of my dreams had you in them, but I was too afraid of what would happen to us if we got married, especially after having an unplanned baby. Our relationship had already been through enough drastic change. I—I didn’t wanna risk it,” her breath hitches mid-sob, causing Bellamy to hold her closer. 

Frankly, it’s fucking stupid that this is the first time she ever told him her real reason for turning down his proposal. God, if she had just been honest with him from the beginning, he might’ve understood instead of breaking up with her. All this time, Bellamy believed that she didn’t love him anymore when the opposite was true. 

“I was a jerk to you though,” is his murmured response as he brushes his thumb across her cheekbone. “I felt so lost that I refused to listen and I broke up with you knowing that it would carve a wedge between us and our daughter. In that moment all I cared about mending was my own broken heart. I didn’t consider you. I was selfish.”

To be honest, Clarke can’t argue against that point. He  _ was  _ selfish, perhaps for the first time in his entire life. Because she has nothing more to say, the room falls silent, but they fill the quiet with soft touches; those that they have been craving, starving for in the past three months. Also, they give each other tender kisses that actually feel  _ healing:  _ With each one, she senses brightness start to break through the darkness, which has ruled her body and mind for so long now — it begins in her lower belly, spreading to each corner of her chest until it reaches her heart, and she falls against his chest with a relieved sigh. 

After a minute, a more random question pops out of her mouth, “Do you think my body’s changed?”

As expected, Bellamy draws back to look at her, his brow furrowed in slight confusion, but then he lifts her chin and says something that surprises her, “Of course your body has changed. It was Ivy’s  _ home  _ for nine months. That’s so precious,” his voice downright cracks under the weight of emotion before he continues, “I still remember the first time we felt her move about in there; her first hiccup, when we saw the print of her hand on your skin and felt her kick.”

Kissing her cheek, Bellamy places a hand on her lower belly, which makes tears fill her eyes. 

“I’ve always thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. But you’re an actual goddess. You created a human life.”

She chuckles, can’t remember the last time she did that without feeling sad right away. “ _ We. _ ”

“Oh, please. I only provided some DNA. I mean, she’s my kid and I love her, but your body kept her safe, Clarke. Your body held her before we could.” 

Even though she never planned to be pregnant at this point in her life, there was so something so special about it, and she wouldn’t have missed it for the world. She drops a lingering kiss to Bellamy’s shoulder, snuggling closer to him. It’s been too long since they’ve shared this bed —  _ their  _ bed. When she first threw him out of it, she was too angry to care, but as time went on the comforting scent of him started to dwindle away from the pillows, which made it more difficult to cope with sleeping alone. 

Now, she doesn’t want him to leave it ever again. He belongs right here, next to her. 

“I was serious before,” she tells him, making sure that their eyes are locked. “I think what we have is worth saving, and not just because we have a daughter. We still love each other. I mean, we keep finding ways to hold on to one another, don’t we?” 

_ That they do.  _

A small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, Bellamy nods. “But we need counseling to make sure that nothing like this happens again. Ivy shouldn’t grow up with parents who don’t know how to make their relationship last. She deserves the consistency, the security, and so do we.” 

“Of course. Let’s start out slowly. You can move in here again; I don’t want you to sleep in the guest room anymore. It’s impractical anyway. And instead of just staying here over the weekend, maybe you should be here on Mondays as well. Then we can build on from there,” is her proposal, which he decides sounds like a good idea. Moving too fast and being too desperate about being a “normal” couple again may trigger more arguments, so it’s definitely safer to regard it as more of a process. 

They are not going to  _ get  _ back together — They are going to  _ grow  _ back together _.  _

“So I can sleep in here with you?” from his low tone of voice, it’s clear that he’s only asking because he still can’t believe that she’s going to allow that, and thinking about it makes her heart quiver in sympathy. 

“I want you to.” 

Once more, the room falls silent for a couple minutes, but then he asks, “What do we do about the sex?” which is a valid question given that they’ve had it twice at times when it probably wasn’t the best thing to do. Just now, they should’ve  _ started out  _ by talking, yet sometimes it’s easier to express your feelings after you’ve reconnected physically with someone. 

“Maybe we should wait until we feel completely comfortable with each other again.”

“Seems wise.” 

Despite his adamant attempt to hold it back, Bellamy yawns, clearly as exhausted as she is; this kind of emotional turmoil really wears on your bones. Closing her eyes, Clarke snuggles against his chest, making herself comfortable in his strong arms. As always, they feel like a warm shield keeping her secure while soothing her at the same time. She hasn’t allowed herself to think about how much she missed this until now. 

To her awe, the last thing he murmurs against her hair before they both drift off to sleep is, “I never stopped loving you.”

And she says it back to him. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd leave comments and kudos it would make me inexplicably happy


End file.
